


The Unexpected Hunter

by hobbitsdoitbetter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Filthy, Magic Made Them Do It, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Sort Of, Submission, Supernatural Elements, dubcon, fae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27403912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsdoitbetter/pseuds/hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: “Ah, a willing visitor,” the man says, turning his inhumanly bright eyes on her.They remind Molly, inescapably, of a cat’s and for some reason she doesn’t want to examine, the thought warms her blood.“Well then, perhaps this infraction may be forgiven,” the man continues silkily, his eyes on hers, “if there is one willing to follow the old ways and pay the price...”Vicar’s daughter Molly Hooper trespasses in the wildwood and discovers there are...penalties for her actions. Filthy, delicious penalties...
Relationships: Molly Hooper/Tom, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 16
Kudos: 103





	The Unexpected Hunter

_Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Written for the lovely MizJoely, who just wanted a welcome distraction._

* * *

**THE UNEXPECTED HUNTER**

* * *

_ The Woods Behind Manorsford Vicarage _

_ Somerset _

_ 1903 _

If Miss Molly Hooper were being honest with herself, she would admit that she knew this jape was a bad idea from the moment Thomas suggested it. 

After all, she’s outside, at midnight, on one of the most haunted nights of the year. If she’s discovered- if she’s even  _ rumoured  _ to have done this- then her reputation will be shot.  _ Her Father will probably confine her to her room for a decade.  _ She’s also wearing little more than her sleeping clothes and a shawl because she’d been unable to dress herself in the dark, and because of  _ this _ her teeth are chattering, gooseflesh rising on her skin as she ventures further into the night- 

Ahead she sees the moon, huge and pale, rise above the canopy of the Ladyswood. 

The wind whispers through the trees and a shiver runs up her spine- a shiver, and also a thrill of excitement. Anticipation. Though she knows it shouldn’t, her heart starts thumping with excitement. 

“Come along!” Thomas whispers from his place in front of her. “If we don’t hurry up we’ll miss everything!”

And without slowing his pace he strides on towards the trees, apparently utterly uncongnisant of the fact that Molly is in her bare feet and shivering like a leaf. 

Molly grits her teeth in frustration, waving away the anticipation: She has always known Thomas to be a prig but the realisation that he’d rather spy on the parish lasses and their beaux making merry at the Herald’s Oak than see to his supposed fiancee’s comfort or safety seems especially galling. 

It is in this moment, this exact moment, that she decides she will not marry the man. 

She doesn’t care what her father says about it. She doesn’t care what her mother says about it. Her parents may think Thomas a fine man and a fine vicar (with an especially fine living to be had) but Molly has never been less certain of a decision at any moment in her young life. 

_ She  _ **_is not_ ** _ for him.  _

She’s about to say as much, to turn back, when she hears a hunting horn call from far away. The sound is deep. Eerie. Mournful and unfamiliar. 

At the sound Thomas’ eyes light up and he picks up his pace, heading ever more quickly into the forest. 

“I knew it,” he’s muttering under his breath, “I knew it! I knew they were playing with devilry!” And he disappears into the darkness of the treeline; as soon as he does so the sounds of his movements seem swallowed by the leaves. Molly dithers, not quite sure what to do, not wanting to leave him there but not wanting to bumble in after him-

The horn sounds again and this time,  _ this time _ it sounds a lot louder. A lot nearer. 

Molly feels the oddest… quake within her, starting in her belly and spreading out. Out. It makes her feel queerly warm, in her cheeks and breasts and… other places. Places good girls like her aren’t supposed to think about. 

_ Her cheeks start to burn with this realisation _ . 

So she stops. Peers into the darkness of the forest and chews her lip. Tries to ignore the tumult within her. She knows,  _ knows, _ that the most dangerous creature therein is either a badger or a fox. Aside from a cold or a turned ankle she really has nothing to fear. It’s not like the Herald’s Oak is particularly far inside the woods, she tells herself.  _ It’s not as if she can come to any real harm _ . And if she’s there then maybe she can persuade Thomas to leave the local youngsters alone, to let them enjoy the delights of the holiday- 

The horn sounds a third time and, as if of their own volition, Molly’s feet start walking. 

The heat within her body, that odd quaking, both start pounding through her as she does. 

One step, two… Three, four, five. She passes the treeline and suddenly even the moon looks different. Now it’s milky and bright, a lamp for the heavens. The stars look down on her like raindrops. Like burning glass. The silence is velvety. Coaxing. It wraps warmly around her. There’s a sweet, clean scent to the breeze and the leaves whisper as if they want to sing. As if they will, should she ask it of them. Ahead she can see a dark shape with she assumes is Thomas and she sets out after it, moving swiftly through the branches with rather more grace than she might normally manage- 

As she clears the trees she sees the Herald’s Oak, massive and ancient. 

_ Its roots are deep and its branches stretch high and oh but it is  _ **_magnificent_ ** _ in the moonlight.  _

The tree, miraculously, still retains many of its leaves. There are ribbons and poppets fluttering on its branches and tiny candles have been placed all around its base.  _ It looks like something out of a fairytale.  _ In other places symbols have been scratched in the dirt, folk magic blessings and curses. Prayers for love and the hope of a good harvest. 

Thomas is leaning down, examining a poppet with a sneer on his face.  _ It really makes him look rather ghastly _ . He pulls out a pocket knife, sets it against the straw of the figure; As soon as he touches it a wind whips up, darting through the forest with such speed and fierceness that it nearly knocks Molly over- 

Suddenly there’s a sound of hooves, of horses. 

Suddenly there’s movement all around her. 

The earth trembles with the sound of galloping. An icy wind tears at her clothes, her hair. She hears men calling, sees dark shapes streak across the trees, the moon and suddenly there are eyes, eyes everywhere. Cats’ eyes. Foxes’ eyes. Eyes above her, eyes below. They glow in the dark, white and gold and amber. Sapphire. Some are red, some green and none of them, oh none of them are human. None of them look anything like human- 

“You trespass, little one.”

The voice comes from behind her. 

It’s masculine. Deep. Velvety and amused. 

Both Molly and Thomas turn towards it, Molly with surprise and Thomas with annoyance, and despite herself, despite all the ladylike manners she has been taught since birth, Molly finds that all she can do is stare. 

For they see a company of shadows, horses and hounds and knights on horseback. And within those shadows she spies a man on a massive, pitch black horse. It’s obvious he is their leader. He’s tall. Handsome- No, not handsome.  _ Beautiful _ . His skin is pale as moonlight and his black hair is threaded through with blue, it’s so dark. It haloes about his face in a tumble of curls. Long, elegant fingers hold tightly to his horse’s reins; he’s wearing leather armour, a bow at his back and a dagger at his hip. At his other hip Molly spies an ancient, weathered hunting horn, embossed here and there with gold and gems and even as she sees it she finds herself taking a step towards him- 

“Ah, a willing visitor,” the man says, turning his inhumanly bright eyes on her. 

They remind Molly, inescapably, of a cat’s and for some reason she doesn’t want to examine, the thought warms her blood. 

“Well then, perhaps this infraction may be forgiven,” the man continues silkily, his eyes on hers, “if there is one willing to follow the old ways and pay the price-” 

“The price?” Thomas sounds indignant. Angry. 

As if to prove his point he attempts to throw the poppet in his hand onto the ground. 

At the gesture the man on the horse hisses and within the blink of an eye he’s off his horse and at the clergyman’s side. His fingers wrap easily, almost carelessly around his throat and he lifts the smaller man off his feet. 

“Do not be disrespectful,” he says calmly. “You are in my woods now, mortal.”

Thomas sputters. “Your woods?” he demands. “Your woods? I think you’ll find that these woods belong to his Majesty, you blackguard-” 

The man laughs. It’s dark. Lovely. Again Molly finds her blood heating. “ _ My _ Queen,” the man says, “is the only regent who matters.  _ My _ Queen is eternal, and she will hold these trees until the Undoing of The World.” He turns his attention to Molly, his eyes dancing. A smile- carnal and sinful- curling at his lip. 

“But I see another queen here tonight,” he says. “A lovely queen. A winter queen.” He drops Thomas carelessly and again, there’s that blink-eye flash of movement and he’s beside her. He smells like leather and wind and it makes her mouth water. When he leans in close and breathes her in, she trembles, and not from the cold. “You smell of green apples and honey,” he tells her. Another playful, sinful smile. “Has  _ he _ ever pointed out any of your many perfections, or is he truly as stupid as he looks?”

Thomas sputters but despite herself Molly smiles shyly. Shakes her head. 

_ She can feel her cheeks heating, this delicious tingling buzzing in her veins, but she doesn’t know what to do with it _ . 

Matching her smile the man reaches out. Brushes one elegant, calloused finger along her cheek. “It’s been a long time since they’ve sent a maiden,” he murmurs into her ear. He tips her chin up to meet him. His eyes glitter wickedly. “It’s been even longer since they sent so lovely a maiden as you.”

And he presses a kiss to her cheek. Her forehead. 

Her flesh burns wherever he touches. 

Molly raises her head to answer him but when she meets his eyes she finds there are no words within her-  _ None, at least, that she feels are necessary _ . 

Rather, she sighs. Smiles. Without her quite willing herself to, she steps closer to the man. Looks up at him from beneath her lashes. Her hands stretch, caress, and slide up his belly, his chest.  _ He’s so warm beneath her palms. _ She licks her lips- they’re tingling- and without a word he brushes his thumb across her mouth. Pulls her to him. When he kisses her lips she feels it down to her toes. He shifts her so that they’re body to body, not a breath between them and again she sighs. She’s melting against him. 

“Better?” he asks.

Molly nods. Smiles again. Her pulse is pounding. Her blood is singing. “Yes,” she says, and again, “yes.” She can’t take her eyes off him. “That is so much better.”

His eyes gleam in the dark. “And what do you wish of me, little mortal?” the man asks. “You have to say the words or I’ll do naught for you...”

And again he strokes her cheek. Again he smiles at her. Molly closes her eyes. Breathes in the scent of him, the heat. She’s swaying in his embrace but when the words come they’re utterly unexpected and utterly welcome. 

_ She feels like she’s been waiting to say them her whole life.  _

“Take me,” she says. Her voice has become low and husky. She’s never heard it like this before. “Take me, take me as the Queen’s man takes a maiden underneath the Herald’s Oak…”

And she leans on her tiptoes. This time  _ she  _ kisses  _ him. _ This time neither of them are gentle or teasing, this time she feels that his kisses are meant to brand, meant to claim.  _ The thought arouses her unbearably.  _ Tongue and lips and teeth, they melt together. Tongue and lips and teeth, he brings her bliss. In the blink of an eye she’s at the foot of the Herald’s Oak. In the blink of an eye she’s pressed fiercely against the wood, the man kissing her hotly, wetly, as she whimpers and moans and writhes for him- 

“Molly!” Thomas calls indignantly. “Molly, stop that this instant!”

The man pulls back from her, his eyes shining. Dangerous. “Dispose of him,” he hisses to his company. A dark, feline grin at Thomas. “Show the human’s holy man what it means to be chased by the Queen’s Hunt.” 

And with a curt, sharp gesture Thomas is yanked to his feet like a puppet. 

Another gesture and he’s tossed into the woods. Into the darkness. 

“GO!” the man snarls at his companions as they take off after the unfortunate clergyman. 

And then he’s kissing Molly again. Touching her again. She knows she should want to stop, should want to check on Thomas but she doesn’t. She can’t bear to. All she wants is to continue what she’s doing. All she wants is to feel his hands on her and to put her hands on him. 

And he must sense as much because the man grins at her. Yanks her head back. He bares her throat and bites sharply at her neck, making her mewl. “Yes,” she moans. “Please, please, yes.” He yanks her shawl from her shoulders and pulls her night shirt roughly down, bearing her breasts to him. “Beautiful,” he growls and then he’s pressing her back into the wood. Nipping and licking and suckling her.  _ The night air feels so delicious on her bare skin. _

He watches her through narrowed eyes as she writhes for him, as she winds her hair through his fingers and guides his mouth this way and that. She can’t stop moaning about how good it feels. She can’t stop begging him for more. A huff of breath as his hands hunt beneath her sleeping dress and then her drawers down and off. His hand hunts under the layers of cotton to find her centre. Her mound. She presses against his hand helplessly as he slides his finger in. 

“A maiden, are you?” he asks and she nods. 

With a hiss of pleasure he presses his thumb against her and when she moans for him he swallows the sound. 

“Then spread your knees for me, maiden,” he growls to her. “Spread your knees and take what your hunter gives you.”

And like one possessed- like one enflamed- Molly does as she’s told. She doesn’t even think to deny him. She doesn’t even hesitate. No, she opens her legs, spreads herself wide. She feels him press his belly and hips and cock against her. With a feral, victorious grin he yanks her legs up on his hips and tells her to hold on. 

“This is the gift a hunter gives to a maid,” he growls. 

And then he’s pressing inside her, his length hard and hot and delicious. He thrusts, harsh and panting and Molly moves in time with him. She expects pain but none comes; rather she feels the wood of the tree at her back, at her arse. Feels his big, hot hands take her weight as he presses even more deeply inside her. The pleasure of it is profound, delicious. Utterly, wholly carnal. It drags moans and curses from her throat, makes her scream and beg and scratch at him like a wanton- 

“Please, please,” she begs him. “Please don’t stop…” 

The grin he shoots her is darkly sinful. “Don’t worry, little one,” he hisses. “I won’t ever stop.”

When the first crest of pleasure comes for her, she cries out. Tears prick her eyes, they roll down her cheeks. And yet her huntsman doesn’t stop thrusting, doesn’t stop moving. He licks the tears from her cheeks and grins again at her. 

“You’ve more in you than that, little maid,” he mutters darkly and as if to prove his point he presses inside her just so and her pleasure crests again. By this time she’s rutting against him as roughly as he is against her; she’s kissing him as he kisses her, she’s scratching and scraping every inch of him she can reach, tearing at his clothes.  _ She wants his skin on hers. _ The urge to have more, more, MORE of him is howling through her blood- Howling through her heart-  _ It feels utterly  _ **_unstoppable_ ** _ \-  _

And then suddenly, explosively, her third climax rushes through her. 

She closes her eyes, clenches her body around him as she comes so hard she swears she sees stars. 

Maybe it’s her own pleasure that does it, maybe it’s something else but her hunter hisses. Bites her throat sharply and then, though she may be a virgin she can feel him coming within her. She can tell by that sudden loss of control, that sudden, guttural helplessness. He jerks in her arms, trembling and his seed trickles down her legs, liquid and delicious as he sags against her. Sighs against her. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck but you are wondrous.” He kisses her. It’s wet and sweet and breathless. “It hasn’t been like that for me in centuries,” he adds. He smiles and this time it’s bright as the rising moon. 

For a moment neither of them move, they just curl together, panting. 

Molly knows she should be embarrassed, horrified, something-  _ But she finds that she is not. _

And then the hunter pulls back. Looks at her. Those bright, inhuman eyes are smiling- no,  _ glowing- _ with delight as he brings her hand up to his mouth to kiss. 

He nips gently on her knuckles, making her giggle. 

“Whatever your name is, maid,” he says, “you are utterly wasted on these mortal fools around you.” He kisses her lips. “Would you like to do something about that?”

And Molly finds she would. 

* * *

Miss Molly Hooper went missing on the night of October 31st, 1903 in the woods behind Manorsford Vicarage. 

The only trace they ever found of her was her shawl and nightdress, abandoned on the ground. 

  
  
  
  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Whisper of His Incantations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532078) by [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely)




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